Rome Today: Heroic Nudity

Rome Today

I recently read an article by travel writer Rick Steves discussing how American travelers often find themselves in a state of shock when they visit Europe and are exposed to European nudity in public. I couldn’t help but laugh since I was one of those Americans when I first visited Italy in 2004. I felt uncomfortable with such uninhibited behavior. My husband, who is from Italy, reassured me that it was normal and acceptable to go topless at the beach. Unfortunately, his words did little to get me to bare it all. Instead, I couldn’t help but secretly stare and wonder why or how so many people could feel comfortable in their birthdays suits (or at least half of them) in public. As I observed, I witnessed every body type: from my own in-laws sporting a bikini and Speedo at the age of 70, to little girls running around with only bottoms on, to little boys in the nude, to grown men in fitted boxers, underwear or the tiniest of shorts, to cellulite-free bodies, well-tanned biceps, stretch marks, no-tan-line silhouettes and everything in between. Not to mention, there were pregnant women on the verge of delivery staying cool in two-piece suits with no hesitation or discomfort enjoying the sun. Their self-confidence reminded me of Demi Moore when she made headlines for posing nude on the cover of Vanity Fair when she was seven months pregnant.

As the summer passed, I tried to muster up the courage to do the same, but couldn’t. I didn’t feel comfortable enough showcasing my breasts in mid-air or for any other man to enjoy the sight publicly. So I proceeded with caution until I started to learn more about Italian culture. I spent countless afternoons at local museums trying to immerse myself in Italian art and culture, and I started noticing one common theme: Exposed bodies everywhere…featured in art, statues and paintings. This sparked my interest in learning more about ancient Greek and Roman art, when heroic nudity was openly accepted. It was a time when the athletic body or human body was admired, when gladiators were cheered on for their Olympic-sized bodies and strength, when curves were the norm instead of the exception. Full-figured women were glorified for their childbearing abilities and all networking occurred in open bathhouses, with a towel-wrapped around waists, instead of behind the keyboard on Facebook. I realized the focus back then was accepting one’s body regardless of size, shape or ability. Embracing one’s own sexuality was part of the human experience until shame and embarrassment was introduced by religion, with the famous “fig leaf” covering up Adam and Eve. Once I reached this conclusion, I decided I would allow the spirit of Venus and the statue David to live on and abandon my overly prudish behavior abroad and embrace my body for all its curves and imperfections.

Check out more of Araceli's photos featuring "Heroic Nudity,” or some of her other stories and productions, by logging on to Rome Today's facebook page.

Check out ChickRocks Handmade Jewelry and Stationery

When Marianna Urutia graduated from her Master’s program in architecture at the University of Houston, the recession had already begun. Undeterred, the native San Antonian found a way to use her skills and passion. “I took it as a clue to experiment and explore,” Urutia explains, “I’d already been very crafty and part of being in interior design and architecture was about being very elegant.” Today Urutia is the creator of her own line of handmade items called ChickRocks. Her most popular items for sale are the jewelry and paper goods, which are each uniquely designed by Urutia herself.

“My physical models in grad school were always well crafted, and as a teen I enjoyed making friendship bracelets,” says Urutia, “but I wanted to explore and be more modern.” Characteristic to ChickRocks accessories are the modern combination of colors and textures. While Urutia tends to stick to the same color palates, her items are still one of a kind. The two-inch bobby pins pictured here, for example, are made with orange and yellow polka dots against a white background. But they are also made with silver tone and vintage Lucite, which gives the jewelry a clean and elegant look. For Urutia, it’s not just about the “less is more” factor, but also “quality over quantity.”

Similarly, a pair of ChickRock earrings is made in 14 karat gold filling with turquoise and yellow stones, and red jade briolettes, while the necklaces in the flower series are also made with 14 karat gold filling and pink faceted glass stones. However, ChickRocks uses other, more creative metals, “I also like to oxidize some of the silver pieces to make them black, like for the Bell necklace,” explains Urutia. Her love for crafts—and experimenting—has even inspired her to take metal smiting classes at the Southwest School of Arts and Crafts. “It’s very different than my handmade jewelry,” she insists, “because it involves fire chemicals and a torch, and takes much more time to master.”

J’adore ChickRocks jewelry, but I also love their paper goods. And who doesn’t need a cute, little spare notebook to throw in the purse every morning—or some extra greeting cards for a forgotten birthday party? The journals are made from scratch, and the most in-demand greeting cards can be attributed to ChickRocks’ signature wiggly one-eyed monster, reminiscent of “Where the Wild Things Are.” The square glassine envelopes containing the greeting cards won me over, as its translucency makes it perfect for the monster to sneak up on its recipients.

Check out ChickRocks for yourself. Their price point is one of the best I’ve seen in a very long time, and just as this story began with a recession; it must end with explaining that ChickRocks prices are perfect for one. The mini cards start at one dollar, with the rest of the paper goods no more than eight dollars. The jewelry, such as the bobby pins, start at four to five dollars. Items can be purchased through the online shop at Chickrocks.com, Etsy, or at the D.I.Y. Factory on San Pedro Avenue, as well as Pulquerios on South Alamo.

Brides Against Breast Cancer Tour of Gowns Stopping in Texas

Making Memories Breast Cancer Foundation, a non-profit organization dedicated to granting wishes and memory-making events for men and women battling stage IV breast cancer, has kicked off its 2011 Brides Against Breast Cancer™ Nationwide Tour of Gowns. The event will be stopping in San Antonio on Saturday, July 16 – Sunday, July 17 at the Hyatt Regency Hill Country Resort and Spa in San Antonio. Local brides-to-be will have the opportunity to find their dream gowns at incredible savings while making wishes come true for metastatic breast cancer patients.

The charity wedding gown sale will feature hundreds of beautiful wedding gowns donated by famous designers, retailers, manufacturers and individuals starting at just $199 and up, including hundreds of brand name and designer gowns, some valued up to $8,000! Tiaras, veils, crinolines and other accessories will also be offered. Making Memories is currently accepting wedding gown donations for gowns 2006 and newer. The gowns need to be shipped to the warehouse in Oregon. Visit Brides Against Cancer for instructions on how to donate gowns.

In addition, while the Nationwide Tour of Gowns is in town, Making Memories will be searching for deserving residents in the area with stage IV breast cancer who would like their dreams fulfilled. Deserving individuals will want to logon to Making Memories to secure a wish packet.

WHERE: Hyatt Regency Hill Country Resort and Spa
WHEN: Power Hour Preview Shopping Spree – $10 Admission per Attendee

Saturday, July 16 from 10 a.m. – Noon

General Sale – Free Admission

Saturday, July 16 from Noon – 6 p.m.

Sunday, July 17 from 10 a.m. – 4 p.m.

Creepy Miami, 2011

When we arrived in Miami, we learned that the Dallas Mavericks were staying at our hotel for the NBA championships against the Miami Heat. We ran into a number of players and employees working for the Mavericks franchise. Low and behold, my girlfriends and I were invited to the over-hyped club Liv, which is located in the infamous Fontainebleau Hotel. Conveniently on Miami Beach, it's often featured on travel shows and hotel guides.

What nobody tells you about Miami (oh and other places as well, for sure), is that there’s some pretty sketchy, crazy looking people there. And I’m not talking about the half-naked drunken folks on the beach. I suppose the more diplomatic way of expressing this sentiment is, “there’s a variety of cultures and influences making their mark on the sunshine city.” However, this is not a diplomatic story running in the New York Times. This is one of the first REAL reviews of the Club Liv and the Fontainebleau Hotel—after hours.

When my girlfriends and I stepped out of the cab, I became frightened by the monsters standing out front and thought, “thank God there are so many exits and revolving doors to make our grand escape.” I couldn’t tell a boy from a girl, a hooker from a cab driver, and without tattoos covering my body or body piercings all over my face, I stuck out like a sore thumb. In fact, here's a picture with my girlfriends while at Liv. They apparently got the slut bitch memo but I was clearly their teacher chaperoning at the party. Oh, but the night gets so much better than that.

We were invited to Liv by an infamous basketball player’s money manager—whatever that means, because the guy slipped Megs a $100 bill for our cab ride back to the hotel, which did not cost $100 (we put it toward our dinner the following night—sucker). When we finally walked into the club, there were definitely an array of other scary creatures inside, but most of them were in our “VIP” area. Newsflash to people who think they’re VIP: if everybody is invited to the VIP area, then it’s really not VIP, regardless of a little stanchion segregating the LARGE VIP area. Soon, we were tipped that LeBron James’s dad was partying with us as well. Thank god one of my girlfriends is a television producer and was able to quickly call bullshit on that one, because I had no idea who any of these “famous” people were. Including the Kim Kardashian look-alike who came complete with her own butt-pads in place of a real butt implant (see picture below). To make this super fun evening even better, the worse house music I’ve ever heard in my life continuously played, and the D.J. quickly switched from song to song like a six-year-old boy with A.D.D. Just when I heard a tune I somewhat adored, the song changed. It was probably for the best as my feet stuck to the unlevel ground every time I tried to dance, because the floor apparently hadn’t been cleaned since Michael Jackson was alive.

After debating, no agreeing, about how much Liv nightclub sucked, we eventually made our way out of the club. But not before walking through the cheesy Fontainebleau Hotel’s high-end lobby area. A large and gaudy chandelier hung from above, as did some cheap—my bad, I meant chic—blue lounge lighting. At first, I thought I was at a Quinceanera, or that someone would jump out from behind one of the couches and try to sell me barbecue plates for $5. My girlfriends however, made me go to the bathroom with them for shelter, which was probably one of the nicer areas in the place. I assume this is because the people at Liv were clearly using the dance floor instead of the commode.

Thankfully, we made it safely back to the hotel, in one piece. I could tell that I wasn’t the only one thinking, “but they always make it look so nice on TV.” We were devastated to learn that Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, dropped six figures partying at Liv when his team won the championships. But we were really happy to know that at least everybody had a really good time and got to feel real important in his all-inclusive VIP area.